Summer
by Eternal Contradiction
Summary: A collection of short stories based on the books Dragon's Bait, Companions of the Night, and Heir Apparent by Vivian Vande Velde for the Summer Challenge on LJ.  KerryEthan, AlysSelendrile, and JanineKenric.
1. Seagulls

A/N: These are a collection of ficlets I wrote for the Murking Fantasy summer challenge on LJ. They can all be found there, if you are inclined to look, but I'll be uploading them all at some point this weekend. Each one is a story in itself, and they range from Dragon's Bait, to Companions of the Night, to Heir Apparent.

Title: Seagulls  
Author: RelenaFanel  
Book: Companions of the Night  
Pairing: Kerry/Ethan

It was one of those warm summer evenings where the humidity of the day pressed on your skin like a sick thick coating of emotion, so strong that it was difficult to breathe. Even the skirt and tank top Kerry was wearing seemed like too much clothing, and sweat dripped down her back at an embarrassing rate. She sat on top of a picnic bench overlooking the harbor, her feet braced against the seat as she stared into the dark, gently lapping waves below. The air smelled of salty seaweed and beneath that the more noxious scent of garbage. Within hearing distance was a carnival, and the area was alight with garish colors and screaming people. Kerry made sure she was in an isolated corner, but close enough to the crowd that she could slip among them and get lost. She was starting to get used to, and even good at, subterfuge. Sometimes she thought she was in training.

Kerry threw a piece of popcorn at a lone seagull, resisting the urge to check her watch one more time. She tried not to sigh when her spine prickled with the sensation of being watched. She kept her eyes on the black swirling water, but opened her ears to listen for noises hiding under the constant lullaby of waves. Still, he was practically sitting beside her before she noticed his approach.

"You're alone," he said, and it wasn't a question. If she hadn't been, he wouldn't have approached.

"Except for this seagull," Kerry informed him, tossing another kernel of the stale popcorn.

Michel looked appalled. "Don't feed it."

"You don't think it's listening, do you?"

"What? Like a weregull or something? No."

"I didn't think seagulls were nocturnal creatures." Kerry used the implied question to turn towards him so she could see the dark line of his hair, and his remarkable face. He had shaved his head so that his scalp was covered in a black fuzz, and Kerry felt disappointment well in her chest. She loved it when he came to her with long straight hair that she yearned to run her fingers through. Luckily, as far as she could tell in the dark, his other features were the same as they had been years, decades, or centuries ago when he had first died.

"Do you think that since I'm nocturnal that I would know what else is?" He watched the water as he spoke, never turning towards her. Kerry took the hint and twisted back on her perch to echo his body language.

"It was a thought," she responded. "That I based more on the idea that maybe you had seen one at night before since you're usually out and about."

"Out and about?" He repeated with a snort. "That's a nice way to put 'trolling for food and sexual pleasure'."

"They're on the move," Kerry told him, sensing that the time for pleasantries was over. She had wanted to get his advice on how to stop her new boss from hitting on her, but instead she ruined the opportunity by talking about a seagull and stretching his patience with the trivialities. "Planting the GPS went smoothly, and I don't think they found it yet. This morning they packed a few overnight bags into the SUV and took off. With the help of the locator, I followed them north to the Canadian border where I had to stop because I didn't have ID or my passport."

"You followed them?" He didn't sound concerned or angry, merely inquisitive, but Kerry knew that out of all the questions he could have asked, that one spoke the most towards his concern with her safety. Or maybe he was worried that she could have blown the entire undercover ops.

"From at least a mile back. It's all in my report." Kerry slipped a folder out of her purse and handed it to him. "It includes the GPS codes so you can get a lock on their location." She would give him the entire system, but there was a good fourteen hour stretch when he was dead to the world these days.

"Did they head towards Quebec or Ontario?" Michel asked, eyes scanning the white paper in the dark. She knew his senses were much better than hers, but Kerry thought it would be awesome to be able to see print on a page without a light. It would have made the late night reading sessions back in high school so much easier if her father couldn't see the line of light under the door.

She shrugged. "Canada."

Michel pursed his lips, and she couldn't tell if it was from displeasure or amusement. "East or west?"

"East-ish."

"Probably Quebec then," he mused, "but maybe eastern Ontario."

"I hope you manage to warn the target in time." Kerry bit on her lower lip, worried about the possible death of a vampire she didn't even know.

"You did good," he told her, leaning over and kissing her forehead. His lips were cool against her dewy skin, and she had a mental image of wrapping herself around him and letting him share his colder body temperature. When he pulled back, there was an envelope on her lap. She didn't bother counting the money inside, for she knew that Michel wouldn't gyp her. If he ever had any intention of not paying her the full amount promised, then she would probably be a dead woman walking. Kerry stuck the envelope in her purse without a word, standing and spilling the rest of her popcorn on the ground. The large gull almost knocked her over in its haste to get to the food. When she looked up, her only company was the bird and the gentle lapping of water against the dock.

©RelenaFanel.july18.2007


	2. Autumn Leaves

Week 2: Autumn Leaves  
Book: Heir Apparent  
Pairing: Kenric/Janine

She stood beneath a large tree in the courtyard, staring up at the wild colors of changing leaves above her head. The burnt orange she was used to was scarce on this tree, giving way to crimson reds and deep purples she never would have associated with autumn at home. It was an uncharacteristically hot day in early October, and her thin summer gown fluttered around her legs as a breeze shook the leaves above her head. A single leaf quivered to the ground at her feet, and she swooped to pick it up, staring at the red veins.

"It seems strange," she said, a tired contentment obvious in her voice. "This time of year I'm usually helping my family pull in some kind of harvest. It's exhausting work, but it was never as bad as spending eleven hours trying to agree on a taxing scheme with the advisors and representatives."

"If you want to pick apples it can be arranged," Kenric said from his seat against the trunk of the tree. His eyes were closed and face turned towards the setting sun. Most people in this place would have meant that sentence as a snide remark, but Kenric wasn't trying to get rid of her. "But we both know you are far more suited to argue with crabby old men than you are to struggle with crab apples."

Janine grunted.

"Don't be foolish." Kenric opened his eyes, hitting her with his stare. "Most people wouldn't take your comments as nostalgic. They'd happily send you back to tending hogs and sleeping on a dirt floor."

She yawned, dropping the leaf she had been twirling between her fingers and straightening her skirt so she could slide down beside him. "Sometimes I think the country would be better off with someone who knew what they were doing."

"I don't. You were barely here for a day and you had already started to clean up the mess my father had made with the kingdom. Stop forgetting that I'm one of your contenders for the throne. I'll pretend that you didn't show me your discontentment, but only because --."

"I'm not discontent," she informed him. "I'm overwhelmed."

"You're doing fine. If I didn't think so, you wouldn't be here."

"Kenric?" Janine asked sleepily, his offhanded comment reminding her of a question she usually forgot to ask. "Did you kill our father?"

He remained silent, not answering her until she fell asleep on his shoulder. He gathered her closer to him as the wind grew chilly, the temperature promising to drop to something more fitting for autumn. He mused aloud, but the words could never convey the fear and loss of dream he felt down to his core. "I don't think I'd ever be able to kill you."


	3. Ocean Travel

Week 3: Ocean Travel  
Book: Dragon's Bait  
Pairing: Selys

"I don't understand," Alys whined, her hands tightly grasping the side of the ship. "Why do we always have to do things the traditional human way? Couldn't we have-?" She broke off her question of why he didn't fly both of them across the ocean, clamping her mouth shut in an attempt not to throw up. The ship rolled unsteadily below her feet, the almost violent waves below doing nothing to help her delicate stomach. It didn't matter whether he heard the words to her question, for it was the same thing she asked almost every night. She asked it when she saw the danger in a large dragon being in such an enclosed state. She asked after he turned into a seagull and flew into the sky in the hour before dawn, but he hadn't been there to answer that time. Again, she questioned him when they were too far out to sea for seagulls and he had far more trouble getting back on the ship as disguised as a fish. Finally, she selfishly asked in the third week, the first time they had a storm and she found that while she had sea-legs most of the time now, that choppy waters still made her nauseous.

Selendrile laughed. "You wouldn't survive for a week on my back." 

"A week," Alys moaned. "It only takes you a week?" With both her arms cradled around her middle in an attempt to hold the churning in her stomach still, she didn't even realize that Selendrile could have flown over the land instead of taking the long way around Europe. Over land, he could always stop to put her down, if need be.

"Besides. I wouldn't want you to get motion sick on top of me."

"I'm not sick!" Alys said hotly. "I'm sure that unidentifiable salted meat was bad, that's all."

"Suure," Selendrile mocked. "That's why the crew of this ship are all staying close to the side in order to vomit as well." He gestured vaguely to a few men in sight working with the ropes.

"They're used to rank food!" Her stomach heaved, and Alys fell to the deck with a sob. She curled into a ball, tears of stress washing away her brave face. The black sky overhead opened in response, heavy rain pouring over them so that in one second they were drenched through. Alys stopped crying, turning her face to the rain and opening her mouth so the cool water could tame her parched throat. Calmed, she turned to look at Selendrile, his dark silhouette a source of strength beside her. His long, loose blond hair whipped around them in the wet wind, and he offered her a hand up. Alys was just regaining her feet when the ship jarred violently, shuddering as though Poseidon himself was shaking it.

Alys shrieked, the force driving her backwards and out of his grasp. Her back smacked sharply against something, and for a moment she was miraculously and painfully still. Then she was falling, down, down into the blackness below her. With the forceful downpour from above, she barely noticed when she hit water and sank below the violent waves. There was a curious floating sensation, where it felt as though the air was cushioning her in a gentle embrace, and then she choked on salt water when she tried to inhale. Her body reacted, drawing in great mouthfuls of water as it struggled for air, and she was drowning and suffocating all at the same time. The beautiful and tempestuous ocean she had spent days admiring had finally shown her deathly form.

Alys went lax, no longer struggling against the waves. She was floating again, loved by the seemingly gentle water below the surface. She couldn't see anything, sound was quiet, and as she embraced the calm, strong fingers encircled her wrist and jerked.

.x.x.x.x.


	4. Chivalry

Title: Bridges  
Week 8: Chivalry  
Novel: Heir Apparent

Note: Sadly, you don't notice how repetitive your writing can be until chapters like this are right next to each other. This somewhat frightens me, as I pride myself on being original. It makes me wonder what similarities I DON'T see.

Janine was breathing hard by the time she reached the bridge. The hem of her white dress was damp from the gentle mist falling in the area – just enough to make everything unpleasantly wet. Fortunately, the horrible dust so abundant in the summer was kept on the ground, but unfortunately it created a very dry mud which streaked the underside of her garments. By holding up the front of her dress, as well as the abundance of layers beneath it, Janine had managed to avoid staining the edge of the white silk. Her maid had convinced her that today was the perfect day – not too hot, not too rainy, and not too optimistic – to wear her new gown. Janine had agreed, since the sight of her trim waist and the flattering collar made her smile as she looked in the mirror, so that though the day was dull and dreary, she felt confident because she knew she looked good.

She was a long was from her shepherdess origins.

The catch was, in order to properly wear it so that her waist did look tiny, she needed about fifty pounds of undergarments, including a corset and layers of petticoats. She was pretty sure that the whole 'not too hot' attribute for the day was because though it was slightly chilly, her legs were sweating so much they trembled.

"You look lovely today," Kenric said, sidling up beside her. Her companion for the first part of the walk had been a mousy man who valued the marriage of religion and state. He also happened to be a visiting dignitary from a neighbouring country to the south and Janine was deeply involved in trade negotiations with them. The dress, unfortunately, was wasted on him.

She smiled at Kenric, lacing her hand through his offered arm. Slowly, she was learning that appearances were just as important for running a country as being King was. "Thank you," she responded graciously, the smile still gracing her lips as real as the sentiment.

"I've come to rescue you. Sister Mary Ursula and that man you've been walking with just got into a debate about the moral ramifications behind a woman King."

"Oh, please," Janine snorted, immediately brining her hand up to cover her mouth at the uncouth sound. "The country is flourishing. I have more sense in my baby toe than the last king had." A heavy pause. "No offense to your father."

"None taken. He was not a pleasant man."

They began to climb a hill, the party of officials accompanied by ranking officers in uniform. Janine smiled wanly at Captain Penrod as he tugged uncomfortably at his cloak, passing as he carefully nodded to two lieutenants keep close to her. She pretended not to see this, aware that her life was in danger now more than ever. Political strife was upon the country, and neighbours were divided on the subject of her gender. The laws said that a woman could be King, but social code said otherwise. "I'm not feeling well," she breathed softly to Kenric, trying to mediate the sound of panting as she attempted to catch her breath.

"Is it poison?" He asked with a frown at the idea of someone trying to assassinate her – again.

"No. I think it's the dress." Janine laughed mirthlessly at the irony. Here she was trying to prove that she could be King, and she was about to be taken down by vanity.

"Ok," he said with an amused smile. "Let's find somewhere for you to sit. Sister Mary and her companion are walking about as quickly as a tortoise with three legs."

Janine smiled at him. "They're like two peas a single pod."

"Ah, a joke," Kenric said, leading her towards the stone wall of the bridge to sit. "If you need more time, I'll distract them for you."

Janine stared at the damp stones, wondering how she could sit and take a load off her poor back without ruining the skirt of her dress. She planned on wearing it again, if possible, and a big wet stain on the back of the silk would not be conducive to the plan. She must have hesitated for a moment too long, because Kenric sighed and went to remove his cloak.

"Your majesty," one of the lieutenants charged with her safety spoke up from a few feet away. "Allow me." He spread his colorful uniform jacket over the wall.

"How chivalric of you," Janine said with an inclination of her head. She had been watching old videos of Queen Elizabeth II and Princess Diana in her spare time, mimicking their motions. Kenric, she could see, was in the process of scorning them both with his eyes, and she had to squelch the urge to shush him.

"It is the least this humble soldier can do for his King." With a bow, he helped her sit on the ledge. Janine settled on his jacket and went through the motions of thanking him. There was something off about his manner, and she felt as though she was being mocked with every word. Putting it down to her distrust of suck-ups, Janine shifted back to Kenric, a challenge in her eye for him to comment.

He was just opening his mouth to oblige her when a cracking noise shot through the cool afternoon air. She barely had time to look for the source before the rock she was sitting on gave way, the whole section of wall tumbling backways into the water. As she fell backwards, the shocked look on Kenric's face followed her. His startled eyes met hers for a split second. She could see him move towards her quickly, hand reaching to grab anything before she was out of reach. His fingers closed around the hem of her dress, but the cloth ripped in his hand and Janine kept tumbling into the river below.

She hit the water with a jarring splash, the liquid enveloping her in a freezing embrace. She struggled against the current, her head breaking to the surface as she treaded water. Coughing and sputtering, Janine attempted to keep her head above the water, but her layers of skirts quickly became soaked, pulling her down. The overly abundant material clung to her legs like a vice, twisting around the limbs until she couldn't budge from the waist down. She sunk, desperately clawing at the liquid with her hands. Around her, the water was a mire of brown and dark patches. For an instant she could see the lighter color of the surface, and she reached for it, her fingers curling around nothing. Drifting, the river was now a comforting embrace, cradling her into oblivion. She could feel the muddy floor beneath her arms, and she sighed out the last bit of air in her lungs.

Coughing and sputtering, Janine regained consciousness on the river bank. Kenric was leaning over her, his wet hair trailing water down his face, and a deep, concerned frown across his brow. Janine curled to her side and threw up, her mouth suddenly filled with water from her lungs. She felt dispossessed, as though she was still in the water while her body was on land, and with a sob, she curled further into fetal position.

"Janine? Janine? Are you alright?"

Distantly, she could hear the words being spoken to her, and she renewed her efforts to swim to the surface of reality. This time, she broke through with success, and blinked back tears as she stared into his handsome face. "Someone tried to kill me," she croaked.

His frown intensified as he picked her up and settling her on his wet lap; she didn't notice, since she was equally as drenched. What she did notice, however, was the mangled and stained remains of her dress lying a few feet away.

Her vanity did almost kill her. Screw social expectations, she was going back to wearing pants.

Captain Penrod was the first to reach them. He ripped the cloak which had been making him so uncomfortable earlier from his shoulders, handing it to Kenric even as he turned to face her with his head bowed. Janine wasn't sure if the motion was contrition or an attempt to preserve her modesty. "Are you alright, your majesty?"

"I'm alive," she snapped, suddenly furious. It took her seconds to mediate her reaction until she was able to speak to him in a normal voice. "I believe this was deliberate, Captain." Kenric finished tucking the Captain's cloak around her body, and he tucked her closer into his arms as she shook from a combination of adrenaline, fear, cold, and anger.

"Was it not just an unfortunate accident?"

"It was a plot against my life," Janine insisted. "I want you to detain the soldier who told me to sit on his jacket as well as Catherine, the maid-in-waiting who suggested I wear this dress today."

"As you wish." He bowed, but Janine had the feeling he didn't quite believe her.

"I am willing," she said, "to believe in innocent until proven guilty, but there are just too many coincidences involved for me to believe this was an accident." She struggled to her feet so she could address him properly. Kenric let her go without a word. "I wouldn't have worn such a beautiful gown today if Catherine hadn't talked me into it. I wouldn't have gotten so tired at the bridge that I needed to sit if I wasn't wearing the dress. I wouldn't have sat in that exact spot if the lieutenant hadn't set his coat there for me. Finally, if it weren't for the dress, my tumble into the water wouldn't have required my brother to fish me out of the briny depths."

"You make a sensible argument, my King." Captain Penrod bowed again, and Janine seethed, wondering if this was another aspersion to the fact she was female, or if it was just because she was young. Maybe it was just a comment and she was becoming too sensitive.

By the time the rest of the party arrived, Janine was trembling so much her legs collapsed out from under her. Without missing a beat, Kenric swung her up in her arms, ensuring that she was still covered from head to foot with the Captain's great cloak. She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, feeling his warmth seep into her freezing flesh. She stopped quaking. He called for a horse, and within moments one was ready for him.

In theory, it was difficult work for Kenric to swing up into the saddle with her still in his arms, but he handled it with the grace of a born perfectionist. He settled her in front of him the best he could, grabbing the reigns with his free hand. He was about to urge the horse forward when the high-upstanding foreign dignitary stepped forward with Sister Mary Ursula at his heels.

"I must object to this indecency," he addressed the crowd, his focus narrowing in on Janine's face. "You must permit someone more suitable to accompany you back to the castle."

"Oh!" Sister Mary Usula huffed. "But Kenric alone is the only one who can do it."

"The King can ride herself if there is no one else."

Janine laughed mirthlessly. "I just drowned. I am barely in the shape to hold my own head up, let alone lead a horse." To emphasize her point, she let her head fall back against Kenric's chest.

"King Janine. If you persist in these dalliances with your beau, I will be forced to report that you are an unsuitable-"

He was cut off by Kenric spurring the horse into action. As they moved forward, Janine could hear the emissary say "but the way they look at each other!" and she frowned, wondering if Kenric actually looked at her the way she sometimes saw him. Her mind could only conjure up a few fond smiles, annoyed frowns, and the concern on his dripping face as he pulled her out of the water.

"Do you think I'm wrong?" she asked, hoping to break the awkward silence which had sprung up. She was leaning heavily on his lap, and every step the horse took jarred down to her bones. "Do you think that it was all an accident?"

"No," he said with a thoughtful frown. "I knew from the moment you went under and didn't resurface. I had expected that I would have to convince you."

"Will you investigate for me? Make sure that there was a plot against my life."

"You are forgetting," he said quietly, "who has the most to gain through your death."

"It wasn't you," Janine said decisively, not even giving it a moment's thought. "This time, at least."

"Wasn't it?" His eyes were hooded.

"I saw your face when I went over." And she would never be able to forget it. No man, even one who had contributed to the assassination of his own father when he was sixteen, could feign that level of shock, horror, and franticness she had seen in his eyes.

"And?"

"I don't believe I have anything to fear from you at the moment. If you wanted me dead, then you wouldn't have saved me. If you did plan it, then you were so assuaged by guilt that you saved me anyway, and so you won't try again today. If this was a scare tactic, then you don't want me dead, so I still don't have to worry about being in your care. Am I missing anything?"

"What if I saved you because I thought it would look strange if I didn't try?"

"Then you could have either given up the pretense of saving me after a cursory search, or you wouldn't even think to kill me when a group of people know that we are currently alone. As I said, I'm safe with you."

"Frightening," Kenric deadpanned, his hand sliding along her waist. "I am the last person you should be safe with."


	5. Rain

Title: Rain  
Week 6: Thunder/Lightning Storm  
Novel: CotN Kerry/Michel

Note: I saved the best for last.

It was a dark and stormy night, or at least that's how the story would go. The sky was hidden behind a smoky tulle of clouds, giving the usual dark atmosphere a sense of quiet light. From her position, the air was misted with fog, leaving a haunted look to the city view she knew so well. There seemed to be an earthly magic in the air as the rain sharpened and then lulled, splashing her feet with small droplets which did nothing more than bring a slight smile to her face. On the cool breeze, she could smell the ocean and in the warmth of the night she could feel the nature surrounding her, ebbing out the sounds of the city so that the cars driving through puddles below became the tide lapping against rocky shoreline.

If she believed in such things, she would be romantic enough to entertain the notion that she had been a siren in another life, feeding off the tempestuous waters. Kerry raised her head as a gust of wind blew the rain directly in her face, the water calming her in a way that massages or therapy never could.

"That's a strange look on you," he said from the doorway, two champagne glasses balanced easily between his fingertips. He looked suited to a storm far more wicked than this one.

"It's the rain," she responded, even her own voice sounding melodious in the sigh of the weather. She could feel the cold against her bare feet and she idly watched a person exit a car far below and scramble indoors. She looked at him again, allowing the calmness to wash over her. She was Calypso raining over her charges, blessing them with her mighty power. She was deeply in love.

"Is it, now?" He handed her a glass, tipping his own so that it clanked against the side of hers in a toast. He took a sip, his blue eyes staring out over the place he had adopted as his own.

"It makes me feel alive again."

But this was not the first time Kerry had stood with him in the rain.

The night had been incredibly dark, black storm clouds covering the moon and stars in the sky so that the only light came from electricity and succinct flashes of lightening. The ice of the rain froze through her white dress shirt, flattening her hair against her forehead as the water poured down her face and dripped from her nose and chin. She stood outside an apartment building in St. Louis, shaking hands in her jeans pockets, not to keep them warm but to stop the overt sign of nerves. Kerry's teeth were chattering, and she could barely see through the rain stinging her eyes to the man exiting the building. Too tall, she thought, but she wondered if she would truly recognize him from shape alone. She knew that if she saw Michel again, she'd know his face, his hair, the way his shoulders looked in a nice button-up shirt, but she didn't know if she would identify a shadow hunched against the rain and wind.

A shiver went up her spine and she resisted the urge to swing around as a breath of air emerged from the alley behind her. Fingers pressed against the cold, wet cloth of her shirt, and the cool cloth pressed into her back so that she gasped. His hand was not warm. "I told you not to find me," he whispered in her ear, his voice rough like the roar of the rain. "Did you think the rain would hide you from me? That I wouldn't feel your eyes watching for me? Smell your need?"

Kerry didn't respond, keeping her eyes straight ahead as he pressed his body against her arm. She could see a hint of him from the corner of her eye, a wavering and haunted form in the storm. His black hair was plastered against his forehead and dripped into his shadowed eyes. She couldn't see the blue of them in the dark, but his shirt was a midnight shade of the same color. He smiled at her, and it wasn't his friendly mask of a smile but one that emphasized his dark nature, hinting at promises and death. "I warned you of what would happen if you came."

"I know," Kerry whispered, shivering from the warmth as he slid around her so the fronts of their wet bodies were slicked together. His hand slipped over her soaked hair, sliding over the silk of her skin until two fingers rested on her neck, feeling her pulse thud and thump, dad um da dump, against his touch. His other hand looped around her back, palm pressing her body tighter against his.

"I'll have you tonight." Lightening flashed, illuminating the embrace for a split second. The same time it took for Kerry to turn her beating heart into his hands.

"You thought you were so smooth," she said with a smile on her balcony, the wine glass held gently between her fingers. A gust of wind softly blew rain droplets over them as she laughed at him with her eyes. "Leaving only enough hints to where you were so that I would get curious and try to find you, just to see if I could." She reached out, skimming her hand along his arm in a familiar caress. "Did you really think me so foolish that I could be lured by my own curiosity?"

"No," he told her, twining his fingers around hers. "I wanted to see you play the game."


End file.
